Thanksgiving Groom. Brenda Minton

a manicure and facial. As she’d waited for her toenails to dry, she picked up an old issue of Now Woman magazine and read the article about the hunky men of Treasure Creek and the lack of available women. There had been pictures, and Penelope made a decision to get herself one of those men.

      But she had noticed something else in the article. There was a paragraph about the town, about their faith in God and the belief that He would get them through their hard times.

      The words had hit Penelope in the heart, where she’d felt empty for as long as she could remember. She’d spent her life trying to help others, to be more than just Penelope Lear, socialite.

      And no one had noticed.

      So she’d packed her bags and headed for Treasure Creek in search of the life she wanted.

      She wouldn’t have any life at all if she didn’t keep walking and find a place to make a shelter. With sticks and her rain poncho. She could do that.

      A snarl behind her stopped Penelope in her tracks. She froze, too afraid to even turn and face what was behind her. It stepped on twigs and leaves, crunching, probably close. She could stay and get eaten, or run.

      She turned to get a closer look and her foot slipped. The bear opened its mouth and roared. She grabbed at a tree, reaching for a limb. Her fingers grasped, and then slipped. She continued to slide, slipping down the steep sides of the ravine. She screamed, and screamed again.

      Tucker Lawson had left the lodge hoping to bring home meat for himself and the Johnsons. The missionaries were a nice couple, and since their garden had been providing food since he showed up at the abandoned lodge during the summer, he had been the one to provide meat. Usually fish.

      He walked along the trail, enjoying the quiet, breathing in the fresh air, and feeling…almost peaceful.

      The guilt was still there, though, a double load of it. How did a man get past not speaking to his father for years, and then getting home too late, getting home just in time to bury his dad, but not in time to say goodbye?

      He shifted the gun he carried and stopped, looking out at the quiet afternoon, shadowed and gray. The mountains loomed, blotting the sunshine that might peek through the clouds this time of year. Possible, but not a great possibility. But being close to the coast, at least they weren’t buried in snow. For November, that was a plus.

      It was just cold. And soon it would be dark. And he didn’t want to be out here in the dark. The wilderness was huge and it could overwhelm a guy, make him feel almost claustrophobic because it closed in around him, keeping him in a cocoon that was safe but confining.

      Sometimes he thought about going back to civilization, back to Seattle, back to his law practice. But when he considered his return, he felt the weight again, heavier.

      So he stayed in the mountains with the Johnsons, missionaries who had served God their entire lives but were now questioning, searching and trying to find their own way back to sanity and to faith.

      God… Tucker felt so far from God at that point, he couldn’t begin to think about faith. He could look out at a creation that astounded him with its beauty, and he could see the hand of God. He could feel only devastation.

      Tucker never had the chance to tell his dad that he loved him.

      He moved on, taking the trail carefully because it had a tendency shift, move to other locations. It was made by animals, and it followed their paths.

      As he walked, something crashed in the woods behind him. He turned, raising the gun. A mountain goat jumped across the trail and ran off into the thick woods. Tucker lowered his weapon and walked on. He wasn’t in the mood for hunting.

      They could have potato soup again. Or canned beans. He didn’t really care. The walk was better than hunting. Out here, away from everything and everybody, he could clear his mind. He could think.

      Something screamed. He stood for a moment, waiting for it to scream again. The big cats sometimes sounded like a screaming woman.

      But they didn’t typically follow the scream with “Get out of here, bear.”

      And then she screamed again.

      A woman? In the middle of nowhere? How in the world had a woman gotten out here?

      She screamed again and he ran down the trail, waiting for her to scream again so he could pinpoint her exact location. And then he saw her at the bottom of a small ravine, sitting on her backside, waving a stick at the bear that stood on hind legs a few feet away.

      Strands of her long blond hair tangled around her face. She scrambled back, crab crawling and then managing to get to her feet.

      Alone? How in the world had she gotten out here? By his estimations, they were a good fifteen or twenty miles from Treasure Creek.

      He shot into the air, then he slid down the ravine, down to where she was standing. The bear lumbered off in the other direction. Tucker grabbed her, throwing her over his shoulder.

      As he hurried up the nearest trail, she was still screeching, bouncing against his back. Her words came out in garbled squawks. “Put…me…down.”

      He wished he could.

      “If you don’t stop fighting me, and stop screaming, I’m going to leave you here.”

      “Fine, leave me here. I can take care of myself.”

      “Of course you can.”

      He glanced back over her shoulder. The bear had lost interest, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear. He shook his head at seeing a bear this time of year. Shouldn’t the thing be hibernating? He kept walking, kept hold of her legs as he scrambled up the hillside.

      She was blubbering about the bear and how it was going to eat her. He nearly laughed.

      “It was just a cub. It wasn’t really going to eat you.”

      They reached the top of the hill. He stopped, gasping for one deep breath of air, and then he deposited her on the ground.

      Great, that’s what he needed. Not just any female, but a crazy one. A crazy female with eyes the color of the sky and blond hair tangling around the face of a Norwegian princess. She stood in front of him, tears streaming down her cheeks, twigs tangled in her hair

      In that moment, he recognized her. Not a Norwegian princess. Worse—the daughter of Herman Lear. That was exactly what he didn’t need. Especially if she’d gone crazy out here.

      “It wasn’t a cub. It was huge. And I looked like its dinner.” She wiped at her eyes and then gasped as she took a step.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “I think I twisted my ankle on my way down that hill.” She peered up at him, eyes narrowing as she studied his face. “I’m fine.”

      They took another step and Tucker couldn’t take it anymore. He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring the way she fought against him.

      “I can take care of myself.”

      “Oh, that’s pretty obvious.” Did he need to explain that she was in the middle of nowhere and had just happened upon the only bear not hibernating? Obviously taking care of herself wasn’t her strongest trait.

      “Do you think he’ll chase us down?” She glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of the ravine. “Bears do attack people. And eat them, I think.”

      Tucker shook his head and resisted the urge to laugh. “You think that bear would eat you?”

      “He might have. And now how am I going to find the trail out of here? I’m sure I was going in the right direction. If I’d stayed on that trail—”

      “Do you think you could be quiet? I really wouldn’t want to come into contact with the mother of that bear cub.”

      “It wasn’t a cub,” she whispered. “Besides that, you have a gun.”

      It